Libretto
by Digital Tempest
Summary: Gift fic. Ficlet. Post X2. Ororo cries, and he regrets.


**Title:** Libretto  
**Author:** Tempest  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters recognizable from the movies or comics. Marvel, Fox, et al owns them. No mutants were harmed in the making of this fic. They will be returned to sender in a timely fashion. I make no money off these works; no copyright infringement intended.  
**Author's Notes:** I've been on a total opera/classical music kick lately. Blame it on the reformed pianist in me. This is the second fic of this kind I've posted on ffnet. As with my other fic, I was partly inspired by the song "Furious Angels" and "Clubbed to Death" (this is the song used on the new Blade trailer and on the Matrix soundtrack) both by Rob D, the techno opera from the 5th element (which the beginning is from Lucia di Lammermoor), listening to way too much Mozart, and the 15minuteficlets community on livejournal. I didn't use as many technical musical terms in this as I did Fermata, but it was still fun to write. I'll leave that up to you who's doing the romancing in this fic.  
**Dedications:** For Theresa.

- - -

The woman's voice floated around the room, mournfully, swelling with passion. He knew this one. It was from her favorite opera, _Lucia di Lammermoor_. The name of the opera rolled from his thick tongue awkwardly, and she sat up and cradled his head between her hands, rewarding him with a kiss for his effort. He ran his tongue over his lips, memorizing the taste of her kiss. She was wearing that flavored lip-gloss one of her students bought for her. She didn't like lipstick.

She broke the kiss first, letting her head fall back onto his chest. She hummed along with the song as he traced his fingers lightly against her collarbone, imagining his lips against it. He stroked her neck delicately, his fingers strumming the velvety smoothness of her skin, and she leaned into his touch. He placed his hand on her chest, over her heart, feeling it beat hard against his hand.

"_Allegro_," he whispered, his lips grazing her ear slightly. Their fingers sought each other out, intertwining. He brought her fingers to his lips, kissing her fingers softly.

"_Allegro guisto_," she said, breaking her hum for only a second before picking up the tune again.

She taught him those musical terms when they were together. She shared this part of her world with him and only him. She breathed beautiful words into his ears in soft Italian. They rolled beautifully off her tongue like forgotten prayers. _Appassionato._ _Lacrimoso_ _Teneramente_. Words he knew he would never say in everyday conversation, but used in their ritual of seduction.

He could almost fall in love with her at times like these. The coldness that encased her melted away, leaving just a woman. She showed him her vulnerability, her fears, her pain. She was no longer the stern co-leader who expressed her disapproval of his actions by raising a humorless eyebrow at him, the one who demanded nothing but the best from them. On missions, she could be uncompromising, unyielding. Alone she was different.

She stopped humming and began to talk. She spoke quietly at first. He was barely able to pick out her words over the music at first. Then, she spoke louder, plainer. The beating of his heart slowed to a painful dull, as she recounted Jean's death. It pained him to hear her talk about Jean's death. It made his own sorrow fester.

If he didn't listen, who would? She gathered everyone under her wings. By nature, she was a nurturer. The emotional needs of others came before her own. It was as if she took a piece of everyone's sadness and made it her own. She never cried in front of the others. Only once had she cried when the others were around. The rest of her tears were saved for their nightly interludes.

Once the doors were closed, small, furious teardrops would fall from her eyes. He would catch her falling tears in his hands, watching them puddle in his palm. In her warm tears, he could feel her grief. In her tears, he could see her sorrow. Her tears were how she purged the emotional burden. He called them her healing rains.

It was her crying he regretted the most. Sometimes the emotional toil made him resent her. How could she make him her sole emotional crutch? She worked so hard to show others that she needed no one, but she did need their love just as they needed hers. Perhaps it was her need that made him visit her night after night. Their grief snaked together, combining, threatening to swallow them whole instead of dissipating.

Maybe this was what really what held them together. Their loss. Their sorrow. When they began to heal, would they still gravitate toward one another? He didn't think so. One day they would grow apart. One day their nights together would be only a private memory they shared when their eyes met. One day the words she taught him would only be a musical chime in his mind. Tonight he would savor what they shared.

"Nothing lasts forever," she said softly, interrupting his thoughts. "Jean's death has taught me that."

Tears trickled down her face in unsteady intervals, and he could recall the taste of her salty tears against his taste buds.

- - -

**Glossary of terms:**

Allegro – quickly

Allegro guisto – quickly with precision

Appassionato – With passion, impassioned

Lacrimoso – tearful

Teneramente – tenderly

Note: This holiday season seems to be making me overly productive.


End file.
